Cantar de Procella
by Morgause1
Summary: Eä is old and Anar's light has dimmed and reddened. The spirit who was once called Mairon trudges on in Valinor, performing whatever petty tasks were still required by the uncaring and undying. But it all changes when a new Vala descends from the Timeless Halls. * Angbang*
1. Chapter 1

_"Cold be hand and heart and bone,  
and cold be sleep under stone:  
never more to wake on stony bed,  
never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead.  
In the black wind the stars shall die,  
and still on gold here let them lie,  
till the dark lord lifts up his hand  
over dead sea and withered land."_ – J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Fellowship of the Ring".

Q. nukumna adj. "humbled". Nukumnon – humbled one.

I used the name "Nukumnon" for our lovely Maia, seeing as no one in their right mind would call him Mairon now in Valinor, and yet, Sauron is a bit too harsh after all these years.

-.-

1.

Across the flat, dun horizon, colors now swirl: black and orange, mostly, with the occasional flicker of vivid red and silver. His chest is tight, his lungs empty. He feels as if a mountain is crushing him. He tries to scream, but no sound comes out. Light blinds him, and that light is the wreck of his home, it is a tidal wave, it is gold melting away to cool into stone. And it is a mourning that's lodged itself forever in his heart.

Gone!

Frigid blue eyes regard him, shining in the dark, and the darkness is alive. It smoothes away the pain, lifting the mountain enough for him to fill his lungs one last time and scream - - -

Nukumnon awoke in his bed, in the house of Manwë. He was sweating, panting, the hunger in his chest driving him mad. He haven't felt this agonizing longing ever since Manwë found him after the Ring was destroyed, pale and adrift, and made him his own. Every Maia needed a Vala to anchor them and give them strength. He was no different, and Manwë had been merciful. The hunger was dulled. It didn't hurt anymore.

He was restored now, his soul calm and tame. The markings of Morgoth were removed from his mind and cleansed away. When first he was taken to Valinor, he was made to toil to make up for all the harm he did throughout the ages. It was hard, very hard, hated and hating as he was, but as millennia trudged on and piled up into millions of years, the struggle subsided. All the deep emotions harbored on both sides became remote and disassociated. Like so many other things in the over-long lives of the Undying, they no longer seemed relevant.

The Eldar thrive on memory, they say, but even they can grow weary of remembrance.

But his peace of mind was completely wrecked about a week ago, as much as time was still counted now, when he was summoned to the Vala's presence. Such close interviews were a rare thing for Nukumnon, after the initial cleansing of his mind.

(he still remembered his horror, his violence on the throne hall's polished floor as he tried to get away from the hands that held him down, and then from the tendrils of thought that penetrated his mind and rearranged it, stitching back all the rips and tears made by his former master, making him bow – )

He bowed before the King and Queen, and, rising up, noticed the tension in their faces. The Elder King's lined features were always serene and composed, although Nukumnon knew how terrible his wrath was – he still remembered what Manwë did to his siblings on the day that **he** was taken away from them. He assumed a neutral expression and waited for whatever might come.

"I have some… news that might concern you," Manwë opened, uncharacteristically hesitant. "Our Lord decided to send us back my brother."

Nukumnon stood there, face unmoving, as if he didn't hear him. From the corner of his eye he saw Eönwë and Ilmarë exchange concerned looks behind the thrones of the Monarchs.

Manwë continued. "Our Lord restored him to his original faculties, before he rebelled, and erased the evil from his mind." He got up and started pacing the room, his passage lifting whatever remains of ruddy hair that still clung to Nukumnon's scalp. "I must confess that I do not comprehend His purpose, but I cannot question His wisdom. I shall accept it, as always."

"Do understand," Varda said, and he moved his gaze to her cold eyes, glimmering in the frame of her now gray and lusterless hair. "He will not remember anything he did, anything he was, as if none of it had ever happened."

Nukumnon tested his voice. It was sufficiently stable. "And what am I to do about it, my Lord and Lady?"

(lies, lies. He never did swear fealty to either of them. He wasn't even asked to do it. He was as much their servant as he was Nessa's, for that matter. But some things are better left unsaid.)

"You must not go near him," Manwë said decisively. "For whatever reason. And you must not tell him anything of the past."

"Why?"

"Any sign of the past that he is given, any memory, might awaken the darkness in him and reverberate in his nature until it resurfaces, to the loss and ruin of us all. He would be punished for any infringement, of course, quite brutally. But our punishment would be far worse as we would have to see everything we built – everything you, too, had built – destroyed. This must not happen."

"It's crucial that you heed our words, despite any difficulties that may arise." said Varda. "He's got a second chance, we all have. We cannot let it go to waste."

"And the rest? The Maiar, the Elves?"

"They were instructed accordingly. But I wanted to make sure that you in particular understood the gravity of the situation."

"Very well," he said. "When is he coming?"

Manwë paused and the room stilled.

"Today," he said. "He's descending today."

-.-

Nukumnon exited the throne room, feeling the numbness of shock finally dissipating from his brain. He's coming. Unbelievable as it was, after all this time, but it was true. And in this latter age, when all the fires in the belly of Arda had cooled away and the flames of his soul long turned to ashes, Nukumnon did not know what to think about it.


	2. Chapter 2

That evening a celebration was held on Taniquetil. It was not a large one, limited only to the Valar, the King and Queen's household, and some of the nobles of the Eldar who were forgiving – or curious – enough to attend. Nukumnon watched, helpless, as the one who was the epitome of darkness, of cruelty and evil, descended into the Hall and was warmly embraced by his brother. He was too far away to hear the words they said, but he could see the light of joy in their faces. Perhaps Lord Manwë missed his brother as much as Nukumnon himself did back when he could still feel.

Wine was proffered to the guests and sweet fruit from Yavanna's gardens. Fruit was scarce these days even in the Blessed Lands, as Anar bloated and her light diminished and reddened, and was therefore all the more precious. The Hall was filled with the rustle of faded silk and re-polished gems as the guests shuffled around, terrified and embarrassed, eventually succumbing to the lure of the new-comer where naught was new anymore. Nukumnon's eyes followed, hawk-like, Melkor's movement about the lamp-lit Hall, obediently trying to avoid him –

(and was there not a time, back when the world was young and fires still burned bright, when he would have scorned that command and ran, ran, ran to his side, razed anyone who stood in his path, so...)

– so his amazement was great when suddenly he found himself face to face with him on one of the windy terraces surrounding the Tower.

He was exactly the same as he was when Mairon first saw him, before Arda, before the Discord: a powerful, lovely spirit of light and soft shadow, brimming with energy. He wore his favorite raiment of old: his eyes were the bright blue Nukumnon remembered and loved, but it was warm now, not the icy wastes of old. He lifted one pale, unburnt hand to brush his black hair away from his face. His face… when was the last time he'd seen a young face in the barren flatness Arda had become over the years? The Vala stopped and smiled down at Nukumnon with evident delight.

"Ah. And who might you be?"

His voice was the same dark velvet as it was before, but devoid of any malice. Did he truly not know him? Apparently not. Blinking through a wave of unwanted memories, the Maia found that he could still talk. "I am called Nukumnon, Lord Melkor."

"Nukumnon?" Melkor grimaced. "And my brother lets you walk around in his halls with a humiliating name like that?"

"I earned it well, Lord Melkor, as I sinned and deserved to be humbled. Your brother has been very kind to me, much kinder than one would expect." The words tasted strange in his mouth, despite the fact that he said them before, more than once. The old Mairon would never have said such a terrible thing, but his pride was long gone now. He must really have become nukumna.

"Well, whatever you did to gain such a name, I assume that you mended it, since you are here and not in Námo's dungeons. But were you mine, I'd find you a name more befitting." He suddenly laughed, a beautiful sound like a great bell. Nukumnon's breath hitched. "Tell me: how do you serve my brother?"

"I used to work in the mines, and then I was a smith, but now… now all that could be made, was already made. The Undying no longer desire novelties and the earth's veins are emptied. So I run errands, I perform random jobs that are required of me."

(I linger, he suddenly wanted to say. But once he was strong and willful, skilled in craft and in magic. Once he commanded armies, ruled kingdoms, was the fanatic slave of – )

The Vala regarded him with something akin to pity. How could he truly believe that this, this… gentle stranger was his old master? Not for the first time, Nukumnon felt himself dividing in two, each part less than half his soul. He tightened his grip around the goblet he was holding, conscious of his deformed and calloused fingers. He hoped the Vala wouldn't notice.

(for he knew him back when he was beautiful, his hair long and flowing like lava, his eyes a burnished gold that enticed and taunted. He could not take that form again; he could barely even hold on to the wizened one he now occupied.)

Even if he did notice, Melkor gave no sign of that. Instead he turned to look across the vast views opened to him from the mountaintop. "This is a very lovely place, is it not? I think I'm going to like it very much in here. All the sounds, the smells, the textures… all the patterns of our Lord's thought made manifest in Matter. And this. What do you call this?" he removed the goblet from Nukumnon's hands and tossed back its contents, clearly rejoicing in his Fána and all the new stimuli it provided. He was bubbling with excitement, his cheer more intoxicating than the pale wine. The Maia was getting dizzy just from looking at him.

"It's called 'wine', Master." Nukumnon answered, unthinking. He was rewarded by another bell-laugh.

"You address me as if I were my brother, little Maia. Do I really look like him that much?"

"Forgive me, Lord Melkor, I misspoke."

"Did you? Perhaps. Or," his eyes lit up mischievously. "Perhaps you unknowingly meant it. Search your feelings: it could be that you love me, and that signifies that you were meant to serve me. No Maia loved me before, because I do not yet know to what purpose our Lord intended me, and what is a purposeless Ainu? After all, unlike the Children who are ends in themselves, we are but tools in the hands of the One." Nukumnon paled. This was getting very, very bad, very, very quickly. He tried to back away and stopper the flood of words threatening to overwhelm him.

"Truly, I misspoke." The arched door was already at his back, and beyond it light and friendly voices. Friendly? Yes, he supposed they were, after a manner. "Your pardon, Great Spirit. I think I hear my Lord calling for me."

"Alright, alright. I was just joking – I do not doubt your loyalty to him" he smiled brightly. "I should not terrify my brother's servants, however pleasant they are, especially on my first day here. Run along, little Maia. I'll stay here for a while."

Nukumnon bowed curtly and fled as fast as his legs could carry him, missing the peculiar look fixed on his retreating back. He didn't tell anyone of this meeting. After all, he was only forbidden to approach the Vala himself, and that he did not do.

-.-

That was a week ago, during which the Maia did everything in his power to hide from Melkor. He still caught sight of him occasionally, as he went about his business in the Halls. This troubled his frozen soul, every glimpse a seam coming apart, every far-away laugh (or worse, so much worse, a Song) a scab slowly ripping off. Things started to change where there was no change for ages, to accommodate the Halls' new resident and the stirring his controversial presence created. In a manner, it was aggravating. Nukumnon had learned how to live with his loss and did it well, but now he felt the old obsession creeping back into his mind, bit by bloody bit: where was Melkor now? What was he doing? A flicker of beauty, caught in passing, as he smiled on some Elf that tried to impress him with a bit of poetry… and then the forbidding glance of Varda, warning him to move on and not stop until he was far away. All was maddening, confusing. Not being able to do anything about it was the worst part of it. And now, as Nukumnon awoke in his bed with the old fire running through his veins and glowing in his eyes, the wound in his soul where his master should have been fully reopened and throbbing, he realized that he could not go on like that for one more minute. He had to find him.


	3. Chapter 3

He searched for hours throughout Aman, unable to ask anyone about his quarry. Night had fallen, Moonless now that Tilion's vessel was entirely consumed and the Maia himself but a silvery flicker wandering the gardens of Lórien. At last he found him on the Rim, staring out into the night sky. His craving suddenly overshadowed by fear, Nukumnon hid as well as he could behind a jutting of rock and willed his heart to quit its wild pounding.

For Melkor's dark blue robes appeared almost black in the gloom, and when a breeze fanned his loose hair, he seemed to be crowned with stars that burned brightly upon his brow. Power coiled around the Great Spirit, ebbing and flowing in the dark. The Maia had almost forgotten just how tall he was, how beautiful, how lofty were his stern features in the cold glimmer of the stars.

Nukumnon tried to swallow and found that his throat was dry.

"I know you're there. Come out!" his voice was soft, amused, a strange contrast to his inapproachable and holy appearance. Cursing his own weakness, Nukumnon came into view and padded softly to his side.

"Oh, it's you," the Vala sounded genuinely surprised. He fidgeted, but Melkor was still looking at the sky, transfixed.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? The darkness… like fine oil running down my skin." He stretched out his hand and plucked at the darkness between the stars. It wrapped around his fingers and dripped down his hand, blackening it.

"Beautiful…" Nukumnon echoed, unable to tear his eyes away.

"I should have descended a long time ago, maybe even when my brother did. There's just so much one could learn even at our Lord's feet, without seeing his Will truly applied."

"It was much more beautiful once, when it was young. It vibrated with color and heat, tempestuous to its very core. And it was full of life, real life, not this pathetic excuse we now abide in. They say we have finally managed to rebuild all that was broken, but Eä's just a withered waste in comparison to what it had been back when..." he fell silent, catching himself just in time. This was the longest act of speech he performed in several thousands of years.

The Vala shot a side glance in his direction, and then his piercing gaze fixed fully onto him.

"You're in anguish. Your bond…"

Nukumnon tried to deny it. It didn't work.

"Where's my brother?"

"In his Tower."

"Then why are you not with him? Or are you pledged to some other Vala?"

"I'm not."

The Vala stood with his hands on his hips, eyeing Nukumnon suspiciously. Nukumnon felt energy radiating from him, a Song sweeter than anything. How strange it was, to stand so close and feel this wall separating his soul from the one he so desperately needed.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was… passing by."

The Vala snorted. "Were you always such a bad liar? It's quite obvious it wasn't just a coincidence. You sought me out."

Nukumnon lowered his head. He had nothing to say. Why **didn't** he go to Manwë to at least numb the pain? It wasn't the same, but on the other hand, also not a potential catastrophe. He hoped Melkor would let it go at that, but he continued mercilessly.

"Why did you come to me? You are not mine, you never swore yourself to me –

(but Mairon did, he did, on his knees on a mountain outside Almaren, and then again and again throughout the centuries as his soul glowed in Melkor's fist, his naked body underneath his…)

– so why do you run to me for the warmth only your Vala can give you?"

Nukumnon could not answer, so the Vala continued.

"Maybe you do love me, after all, even though I do not know my purpose yet." his voice softened considerably and he tilted his head to one side like a bird, like his brother. "Do you know it?"

Nukumnon shook his head, unaware of the tears running down his face. The Vala came closer, moving as if to touch him, and all Nukumnon wanted to do was to rest his head on that broad chest, open up his soul and let his pain and longing be sucked from him into the Vala and return as a wave of fresh energy, of real life. But he couldn't, so he didn't, and instead he ran. And even as he ran, he heard the Vala's reproach tolling deep inside him.

"You are extremely frustrating."


	4. Chapter 4

Days had turned to weeks and into months, and on the Undying Lands a brooding restless descended again. Whispers were passed from mouth to ear; glances crossed and spoke of a shared distrust. The Teleri's long abandoned boats rocked and clashed upon the dead Sea, and the sound carried ominously in the Sun's rusty light. Black birds flocked to the house of Manwë, where Morgoth has made his lair, their cawing strange and wistful. And although the Dark One didn't seem yet to be doing anything evil in particular, still the minds of the folk forebode of a plague and a pestilence looming on the horizon. Nukumnon knew that hint of rising mutiny and felt it in his heart, and where once it would have pleased him mightily, now it only served to shatter his nerves further on. This charged atmosphere spoke of an oncoming storm, and that he could no longer withstand.

-.-

The next time Nukumnon saw Melkor was when the Maia ran a message to Mandos and a gigantic black shadow suddenly swooped down and lifted him up in its talons. It landed after a short and dizzy flight in a dell somewhere in the Pelóri, tossing Nukumnon down with a soft thud. As soon as it touched ground, the winged creature re-shaped into Lord Melkor's regular form in one graceful motion. The Vala towered above the crouching Nukumnon, his arms crossed upon his chest. He cast a shadow now, deeper and fuller than any of the Valar's nowadays. To the Maia's horror, he seemed furious. He tried to scramble away on his knees.

"Please, Master. I have an errand to run. Lord Manwë would be mad at me if he knew…"

"A slip of the tongue again, Mairon?" gone was the velvet. His voice was iron.

Nukumnon's heart skipped a beat. "You… know my name?"

"Aye, Mairon, my most loyal and trustworthy servant… or so I thought. For you didn't deign to tell me the one fact I sought most. You kept me in the dark like some fool, fawning over those miserable wretches who despise me." his lip curled in contempt. "Did you think I wouldn't notice that something was amiss? Do you think I'm blind to all the glances I get, to the way the Children avert their eyes when I pass and mutter prayers to our Lord? Perhaps you do deserve the awful name you are now called."

Nukumnon's spirit crumbled even further. "How did you find out?"

"My brother told me," he said. "He couldn't keep his tongue tied for long. Claimed that it was our Father that made him tell me, but he was always a prattling idiot. He matters not. It's you I'm angry with."

"I did it for you…" Nukumnon whispered. "They told me I must keep silent for your own sake, that if I told you who you were you would be taken away forever back into the Void, and I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear being ripped away from you again, and know that it is my fault that you suffer. I'm sorry. I'm not as strong as I used to be."

"Do you think me so feeble as to require a Maia's protection? I can take care of myself, in case you forgotten" the Vala said. His gaze strained upon the Maia's crouched form. "You should have told me. You should have warned me. That's what I would expect from the one I loved so much. Or have you forgotten that, too?"

The Maia's eyes shot up, unbelieving, but there was no trace of lie in Melkor's face. "I was your Lieutenant."

"That's not what I meant. Didn't you know?"

"No," whispered the Maia, unable to speak up. Some things were not meant to be said out loud, their pronunciation a shard of glass cutting into soft flesh, a paradox that might swallow the world whole. The contrast was too high.

"I never told you?"

"You were not… sentimental."

"Well, I still do, even after all these years."

It couldn't be, that was the only way the world might still make sense. Melkor could not love. Nukumnon was too tired to conceal the bitterness in his voice. "Why? I'm broken, weak, ugly. You are… perfect, as you always been. Why would I believe you?"

There was a long silence at that. Nukumnon lowered his head and closed his eyes. And then he felt large hands settling on his shoulders, and he lifted his head.

Melkor was kneeling in front of him, his face a breadth of hair away. His hair tickled Nukumnon's face.

"You are not broken," he said. "And you are not ugly. You are a being of fire, and it shines through the cracks from afar. You called on me, and even without remembering who you are, I came to you."

The Maia didn't know how to answer that, but then the Vala's lips pressed upon his and no reply seemed relevant anymore.

-.-

Melkor was sitting on the rocky ground beside him, drawing sigils with his fingers on the earth. The rolling clouds overhead cast flitting shadows on his face, and even here in the mountains, the air was thick and stuffy.

"So I was Disowned? All the time I thought I sat at our Father's feet, I was Disowned by Him?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Melkor sighed, a heavy, shaking sigh. It was painful to hear him like that. He picked up a stone, crushed it to dust in his palm and looked at it with wonder. "It's so strange. I do not feel like this spirit of destruction, at least not anymore. How could it be, if this is the role I played in His Music?"

"Perhaps things change. Perhaps you are to assume a different role now that you're back."

He shook his head. "This answer does not satisfy. It cannot be so simple; nothing is ever simple with Him. He is playing subtle, convoluted games, and I never liked being a pawn. Mairon," he said, lifting his gaze into the Maia's eyes. "I think it's time I took you back."

"Do you want me to swear fealty to you?"

"You are already sworn." he said and spread his arms. "Come here and open up."

-.-

The spirit, as the body, follows the same laws set in Eru's thought. As large masses of Matter attract smaller rocks and clouds, so do the smaller Maiarin souls gravitate towards the vast spirits of the Valar, and both orbit the infinity which is the One. And like a body long left in solitude and untouched, a soul will hurt when taken by a bigger mind, however gentle its touch. Mairon moaned as the ashes of his soul awoke and quickened to life, as his whole mind was cleared of dust and became whole once more. Memories, thoughts, and emotions rushed between the Vala and his Maia, almost inseparable now in their embrace. And when the dance of flames shrieked into a roaring climax and lightning filled the darkening sky, Melkor tossed back his head and roared with laughter.

His laugh echoed in the air and shook the foundations of the earth, until the entire world seemed to thrum in pain. Mountains erupted in the distance at the sound of his laughter, and in the city the Children screamed.

"Now I know what my purpose is," he thundered amid his laughter, black hair whipping around him in the rising gale. "I am here to end it all, am I not? All of this beauty and light which I always loved so much, and was forced to destroy again and again! Do you hear me, Father? I figured it out! I know what it is you want of me!" blackness reeking of ash and blood wrapped around him like a cloak and he brandished a sword fashioned out of thin air, its blade sharp enough to butcher Arda herself. "I am no longer purposeless, Mairon. This is me, this is my destiny. Will you follow me?"

And Mairon gave out a great cry when his fire burst out again as it did of old, engulfing his entire being with its deadly heat. His sorry flesh was gone, replaced by limbs made of living flame. He fixed his burnished gold eyes on the Vala and hissed, his voice an inferno of flames.

"To the Void and back, Master."

-.-

In Manwë's halls upon Taniquetil Tulkas and Eönwë heard the distant storm beginning and turned to look at each other. And in the Mortal Lands, long deformed and forgotten, a black haired youth was startled from a nightmare of fire and fury.


	5. Chapter 5

Thus began the greatest battle in all the history of Eä, the War of Wars. It was long and terrible, both for the destruction it dealt and for the fact that while nations crumbled and Nature itself cried in agony, the combatants fought in utter silence. The stars darkened, Arda was gobbled up and burned to cinders that swirled in the crawling chaos, all black and orange and vivid red. And then even the chaos, even the ancient Void were no more. When all was consumed and the only thing still holding was the fighters' sheer Will, everything disappeared into a white nothingness.

Silence.

-.-

Mairon hadn't been to the Timeless Halls ever since he had descended into Eä at the dawn of time. It was not a place, but what lay beyond all places.

Was an Elvish scholar of old present there, he might have tried to describe it as sea of spirits, still half-formed and undifferentiated from one another. It was liquid, or perhaps light. This description is far from true, of course, just as the act of Creation was not performed by song. But what more could be expected from incarnate brains who could never truly grasp their Maker? In the midst of that warm womb whence all came, a throne stood, loftier than the highest mountain and cast from blinding Light. Manwë, ever the Presence's most cherished servant, stood at the base of the throne. He was the only one saved from the wreck.

No words were spoken in that place far ascending speech, but thought flowed freely. There had been an accusation, and then Manwë's silent plea for mercy for the one who was his brother. The plea was dismissed. Melkor stood tall and proud before the throne, waiting for his doom to be proclaimed.

A pulse of thought from the sea of soft spirits: the Maia at least, the pulse begged. He paid for his sins, didn't he? The murmur was considered, weighted, accepted. A pardon reached and wrapped its tentacles around Mairon, to be granted should he repent. But the Vala would be destroyed.

But Mairon refused. In a last ditch attempt, he cast himself in front of Melkor, shielding him as well as he could. Wrath emanated from the throne, ready to smite.

"Out of the way, fool," the Vala snarled, pushing his spirit aside. Even now, when all was lost, he still clung to Matter which he loved so much, he still spoke with words. "My Lord, this Maia was stupid enough to fall for me, so I made him do as I said, against his own will. I am the only one to blame."

"No! No!" Mairon screamed, arising and rushing again to his side, spanning out like a web around him. Feeble and hopeless as it was, he would not leave him again.

"Idiot," Melkor muttered. "If you don't move right this instant, I would Disown you. I would bereave you of love and let you drift. Go!" it would have been a dreadful threat once, when Mairon had anything to lose, and he hoped it would still shock him. What else could he possibly do?

"No."

"Mairon…"

"All my life I did anything you wanted. I never once disobeyed you. And now I say: no! This time you will listen to me." his little soul flared and spiked. It was nothing when compared to the One, but he continued.

"You are but a toy in His hand, Melkor. You never really rebelled; you just did exactly what he intended you to do in the first place. None of us ever had any chance to influence His Music and make any difference. Not Manwë, not any of the greatest Ainur, not even you could do it!" His soul wept fiery tears. "Everything we are originates in Him, even the atrocities we performed together. And now you are to be punished for that? This is not justice, this is not kindness. We had been lied to: the One isn't omnibenevolent, He is cruel and evil!"

He expected wrath. He expected punishment to descend upon him from the throne, harsh and terrible. He expected Melkor's indignation. What he didn't expect was laughter. Melkor hooted at his words. Even Manwë seemed amused.

"My poor little Mairon. Did you truly believe that? If so, then you are just as naïve as those incarnates who thought I did rebel. No, my darling," the Vala wrapped himself around his servant's soul, melding himself to him. "The truth is far stranger than that." And he continued whispering to him in a voice dark and warm as the walls fell down around them. By the first wall the throne was gone, leaving them in darkness more profound than just the absence of light. The second wall evaporated the sighing sea of souls, the third killing those who stood by and watched. And when the fourth wall fell, all of existence flattened out, paper-like, their fates nothing but black scribbles that quickly dispersed and were gone.


End file.
